


Fall, Catch

by Tonko



Series: Grand Line Weyr [3]
Category: Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey, One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Pern
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-10
Updated: 2011-08-10
Packaged: 2017-10-22 11:18:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/237484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tonko/pseuds/Tonko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a rough Threadfall, Ace means to help Smoker unwind, but it doesn't go as smoothly as he expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fall, Catch

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the awesome [printfogey](http://archiveofourown.org/users/printfogey/profile). Any remaining errors are all mine.

The paperwork afterwards was almost the worst part. Logging the injuries in the ledger, their severity and immediate prognosis, then beginning the long process of reorganizing the fighting wings to replace people who'd be grounded anywhere from days to months, and some permanently.

After the fighting wings were home, after the injured were stabilized, after the wingleaders had met to discuss this evening's ruinous mess of a flight and what the fallout would be for training and drills, Smoker shut himself in his office and got to work.

He did all of it, twenty-six times over, in the aftermath of the most punishing Threadfall in the last five years that had not actually involved a death. Seigith offered silent support, well aware that sarcastic commentary would not be welcome at this time and too tired, at any rate, to muster it.

At least, at least, Smoker kept reminding himself, no one had died. Only just, in some cases. But no one was dead.

It was always hard. It was also inevitable; injuries--and deaths--would happen, and Smoker had long ago accepted that. But twenty-six pairs... Threadfall in high winds was bad enough. The rapidly moving clouds and intermittent rain squalls had turned it from difficult to just this side of disastrous. Smoker knew he should only be grateful everyone had come back alive, with that toll, but the sheer breadth of the damage to the fighting wings made it difficult.

He heard his door start to open. Only one person would dare approach him without knocking right now, and there he was, sliding in and shutting the door behind him.

Ace had washed up some and changed from his flight gear back into his ubiquitous heavy-duty shorts and boots and very little else.

He met Smoker's flat glare without comment. He was visibly worn out, though fearless as ever about just waltzing right in. After a nod to Smoker, as though he'd greeted Ace with a polite welcome, Ace dropped heavily into one of the wooden armchairs inside the door. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, gripping at the chair arms to shift himself a little, and let out a silent but visible sigh, evidently settling in for a little nap.

Lazy bastard.

Smoker stared at him for a long moment. Ace hadn't escaped the day untouched, there were dark lines of bruising over his shoulders where his flight straps had dug in, even through his coat, as Merath had fought the high winds.

But it could have been so much worse. Smoker's fists tightened on the desk before him.

Of all the deaths narrowly averted... Ace's stupid stunt, the rescue he'd _removed his riding straps_ to perform with Merath...

A dragonpair had lived, would live, because Ace was a fucking insane idiot and had undone his straps and jumped from Merath to the plummeting, upside-down body of an unconscious and broken-winged green. He'd cut her rider, who'd passed out from the agony of his dragon's pain, away from his straps, and Merath had been able to slide under her body and catch her from her deadfall without crushing her rider.

A few seconds later and Merath would not have had the altitude required to slow himself and his burden enough to stop the fall, would have crashed into the rocky forest of the island below, with the green pair and with Ace, and they would all have died.

But they hadn't.

And that rider, his green, and twenty-five other pairs were burned, broken, comatose or crippled, some only narrowly having avoided that worst of all outcomes. But they were alive. The Threadfall had been a mental whiplash of dragons screaming and vanishing from formation and the always-too-long-in-coming confirmation that they'd appeared home at the Weyr. Just as bad was the choking awareness, while searing another wind-whipped tangle of Thread, that someone had fallen, was falling, needing to ignore the knowledge, but still waiting, hoping, for the alert that the descent had been stopped, the pair had been caught by the rescue squad. Or, once, Ace and Merath.

Smoker swallowed angrily, staring at Ace's sprawled form. There were marks, yes, but nothing even broken. Ace was safely alive and sitting right where Smoker could see him, if bruised and exhausted. Smoker clenched his jaw and returned to the interminable task at hand.

*

Ace left his head leaning back and kept his eyes closed, trying to relax. The racing adrenaline of the flight was still buzzing through him, and though he could feel the exhaustion, it was still at a distance. He worked at making his breathing slow down, the punishing momentum of the 'Fall still grinding down on him, the frantic rush to cover the huge gaps left in the formations as so many pairs had been struck down.

Finally the position made his neck cramp, and he wanted to stretch, but he ignored it, instead just opening his eyes and raising his head slightly to look at Smoker. The pen was still scratching away, but there was a tall stack of files on the “outgoing” corner of Smoker's desk now, and none left on the “to do” side. So just the one remained.

Ace was grateful to Tashigi. He hadn't even needed to speak, he'd just shown up at her desk in the wingseconds' bullpen outside Smoker's and the other leaders' offices, and she'd nodded towards his door, just past where she sat. “Watch out,” she'd warned, looking up from her own paperwork. He'd just grinned. He would take care of the old bastard.

Raising his head a little more now, he could see the rigid set of Smoker's shoulders under his jacket. He was radiating cold frustration, and seemed so incredibly tightly wound that it made Ace hurt to look at him.

He had had no intention of preventing Smoker from finishing what he'd started. But there was no reason Ace had to wait elsewhere for him to be done.

There was a rustle of paper, and Ace watched Smoker slowly close the last file. He didn't move after that, his pen still gripped in one white-knuckled hand, his other hand clenched into a fist resting on the top of the rider's file.

Ace sat up straight, then pushed himself into a standing position. He took advantage of the change in posture to stretch his tightened-up muscles. The scrubdown with a wet cloth after he'd gotten out of his riding gear was not anywhere near the effects of a hot bath.

He took a deep, silent breath and walked forward and around the desk. He reached down to take the pen from Smoker's hand. It came free with only a little resistance, and Ace put it down. That was a good sign. Ace could loosen him up tonight. “I need a real soak, Captain. I ache in places I didn't know I had.” Just the words. He put no innuendo into his tone—that surely wouldn’t have been welcome today—but Ace knew Smoker could foresee the potential conclusion of the suggestion. Smoker's private bathing pool was wonderful. Hot, big enough for two with room to spare.

A grunt with a vague tone of affirmation reached Ace's ears, and he stood back, unexpectedly relieved as he felt the beginnings of post-flight fatigue creeping up on him in the wake of the evaporated adrenaline. Smoker stood abruptly, gathered up the files, and headed for the door. Ace followed him out, watched him hand the files to Tashigi, who accepted them with a subdued nod, her usual slightly-flustered reaction to the two of them standing together completely muted today.

Smoker headed off down the hall, and Tashigi met Ace's eyes with a worried look. He gave her a reassuring grin, trying hard to keep his tiredness from becoming visible, and got a weak smile in return. He ducked a bow at her, semi-formal and respectful, as this loyal and earnest wingsecond deserved.

Ace hurried a little to catch up and walk next to Smoker. The rigidity of his motion and the set of his jaw remained painfully tense.

 _You'll make it better,_ Merath told him, repeating his own intentions back to him and offering a soft mental embrace that soothed a little of Ace's own leftover stress from the relentless role-call of injured dragonpairs dropping out of the 'Fall.

 _Yeah,_ Ace answered grimly, then tried his best to soften his reactions. Merath answered his efforts with a mental embrace and the equivalent of an encouraging push in Smoker's direction. Ace smiled tiredly to himself at Merath's generous nature. The brown shared a last wash of reassurance and encouragement before sinking into deep sleep.

All the dragons were exhausted now, Ace knew. So were their riders. He put a hand on the wall to steady himself as he walked.

The steps up to Smoker's weyr felt longer than normal, and it wasn't until he was fully inside that Ace was truly sure he was welcome to stay. He had been quite certain, he'd gotten better at reading Smoker's moods since that mating flight six months before, but still, it was an unexpectedly deep-reaching relief. Being shut away now would have made it a miserable night for them both, and Ace was intent on avoiding that. Smoker would sleep well tonight, Ace would see to it.

He closed the door behind himself, and turned to find Smoker right in front of him. He barely had time for his eyes to widen before he was backed against the wall, Smoker's arms coming up on either side to box him in.

“Hey,” he said, tamping down his surprise. Smoker made a sound, a strained exhalation somewhere between frustration and relief, and his head dropped forward, forehead coming down on Ace's shoulder. Ace slid one hand up over the back of Smoker's neck, rubbing up for a second into his short hair, and down again, feeling muscles set like stone all the way down under his collar. He'd take care of that now, he would be able to offer some respite.

“Fuck,” Smoker growled, and Ace slowed the movement of his hand, turning his head to press his cheek against Smoker's. “You fucking reckless little shit,” Smoker said into his shoulder, and his hand on the other side of Ace's head became a fist and pulled back to strike and grind against the stone wall.

Ace blinked at that, jolted with sudden guilt. He reached up with his free hand to wrap his fingers around Smoker's fist. He wouldn't have changed his actions, could never have ignored that dragon's fall out of formation, but to know he'd added to Smoker's burden was sobering. “M' sorry,” he offered quietly.

Smoker snorted at that, raising his head to stare at Ace with a deep frown. He pulled his fist in, and Ace let his hands drop from him. “You are _not_.”

He had a point, sort of. “I'm not sorry I did it,” Ace agreed, shrugging one shoulder. Because he wasn't, at all. A young rider and his dragon were both alive instead of dead. “But I'm... sorry I made you worry, dear,” he tried, essaying a teasing half-grin.

“I didn't worry,” Smoker snarled at him, and Ace dropped his smile, uncertain how to meet this unexpected reaction. “I didn't have time.” The whole thing had taken less than a minute, from dive to catch, though at the time those seconds had stretched in Ace's mind. Seigith would have been informed after the fact by the one of the two dragons who were part of the trained squad of rescue pairs, the blue and brown who'd taken the injured green and her rider back to the Weyr.

Ace just tucked his chin in and looked up at Smoker, silent. He wasn't sure what to say to that. This wasn't what he'd expected to encounter tonight, and he was tired enough that he couldn't make himself work out how to steer Smoker back towards his original plan.

Smoker shoved himself back off the wall. “I'm not sorry you did it either,” he muttered, stalking towards the bathing room. Ace let out his breath, took another one, deep and long, and followed.

Taking off his boots with protracted slowness, Ace watched Smoker undress. The tension made his movements rougher than normal, and Ace stopped taking his time, impatient for the heat of the bath, impatient to be of some help, here. So far he'd only offered more stress. He kicked his boots off and dropped his shorts and hat on the bench against the wall, and went over to put himself in Smoker's personal space.

He was ready to be pushed back, and he wasn't sure whether to be glad or not that Smoker just stood, expression a strained glower, and let himself be manhandled out of the rest of his clothing.

And then they were both naked, but before Ace could nudge him towards the bath, Smoker grabbed him by one arm and yanked him close, wrapping both arms around him.

Ace made a noise of surprise at the grip around him, tight and warm. He shifted a bit, able to spread his hands over Smoker's hips, arms pinned from doing much more. The immovable-seeming embrace made his tired body want to stay there, secure and held, after the hours up in the sky.

He was on solid ground. He was really back down now. Merath was asleep, safe.

The solidity of Smoker's body and the stone under his feet, the heavy, warm humidity of the air, all of it seemed to sink into him at once, making him cuttingly aware of himself, of the pain of his aching body, of the room where he stood and the sharp contrast between this still, stable place and the wild, freezing, grey chaos of the stormy, disastrous Threadfall.

Like the rush of the flight had been some kind of dam this whole time, something crumbled inside him and a chill raced through his body, useless and belated fear in its wake, drowning any rational attempt to push it back. With the fear came the screaming wind, the screaming dragons, Merath's internal echoes of pain and fury at his comrades' injuries...

And the desperate chase, straight back towards the earth, to catch a green dragon and her rider, accelerating downwards, Merath's wings pulled in tight, Ace holding himself flat against his neck, the two of them heading straight towards the ground with the wind roaring around them.

His knees wobbled suddenly, his heart racing, choking him, like it hadn't once the whole flight, not even when he'd thrown himself onto the falling dragon and fought her rider's straps to get him free. There'd been no time then, but there was now.

Blood rushed in his ears alongside the memory of the wind. He heard Smoker speak, some low query, but didn't understand the words.

The memory of the ground rushing to meet them blanketed everything, the slack weight of the injured rider in his arms, the endless stretch of nothing but deadfall before Merath had caught them... without the huge urgency of the moment, without Merath's stabilizing running commentary of his relative position, it was just falling, the pale rock faces and dark treetops too close and only rising ever-faster underneath him.

Ace felt himself sag, but he didn't fall, he was held. “Hey,” he heard distantly, “You're fine. You're here.”

“We were falling,” Ace gasped, head spinning. “We fell.”

“You didn't. You saved them,” Smoker's voice was steady, allowed no denial, and Ace clung to that. He gulped air, straining to breathe and clutching at what he knew to be true. Smoker lightened his grip until he was only holding him up. “Slow down,” Smoker said, “slow.” Ace's knees went then, but he didn't fall, he was supported on his way to the floor, Smoker slowly lowering them both. “Slow down,” Smoker repeated, and grabbed Ace's hand, holding it to his chest. “Hey. Come on. Breath with me.” He breathed in, out.

Ace struggled to match him, the need to inhale deep and fast almost overpowering. Smoker's chest rose and fell under his palm, Ace could hear each breath he took and choked off his desperate gasps to hold them, one breath for one breath. The lightheadedness faded, little by little until it was marginally easier to follow the even rhythm under his hand, and finally, at last, they were breathing together.

Smoker released his hand, and Ace let it drop, leaning back, bumping into the wall with a start. He stared a moment, still stunned and unsteady, and rapidly being invaded by stomach-dropping shame. He watched Smoker rearrange himself from an awkward kneeling position to sit down in front of him. With a monumental effort, he swallowed. “Sorry,” he said, and it sounded strangled. Smoker gave him a strange look.

“For what?” Smoker said. Ace rolled his head back and forth on the wall, closing his eyes. This was stupid. Fucking ridiculous and embarrassing, it wasn't what he'd intended to do. He'd been trying to help, and this was so far from that, he was nothing more than another weight, now.

Frustration rose into his throat, thickened his breathing. It wasn't the panicky gasping again, but after all that, he couldn't master this. Heat flooded his face and then his eyes pricked and he felt his mouth stretch in a grimace. He gritted his teeth, unwilling to duck or hide in his hands, but it didn't stop hot tears escaping to slide back over his temples. “Hey...” Smoker breathed, and his voice was so... careful.

That made it so much worse. Ace breathed in through his teeth, that tone provoking another escape of tears. He leaned away from the wall then, and ground one palm into his forehead.

“Fuck,” he gritted. “You don't need this.” All wrong. Backwards. This was not what Ace's role was here, and sudden fear of the ruin this could cause to their relationship bit into him. If he became a burden, instead of a support...

“I'm not the only one here,” Smoker replied, still gentle, and Ace could hardly stand it, shoulders hitching and fingernails biting into his hairline.

A hand closed around his wrist, pulling it out from under his head, and Ace looked up despite himself, staring into tired, unhappy eyes. “I'm not here to dump more shit on you,” he said, and oh fuck, he was _whining_. He yanked at the grip on his wrist, infuriated at himself.

Smoker didn't let him go, his grip turned suddenly immobile. He stared at Ace, and his eyes narrowed in some sudden realization. “You aren't. What do you... you're not some... some random fucktoy,” he said, and Ace started to shake his head. Smoker shook his arm instead and Ace looked away from him, fixing his eyes on the wall. “You're not,” Smoker said flatly. “ _Ace_.”

Ace's eyes widened and he looked back around at the use of his name. It came rarely, and each time he'd felt the weight of it pull at the deepest parts of him. This time he swallowed, unsure which direction to go in next when faced with Smoker's full and... and _concerned_ attention. This was all _backwards_.

This man in front of him had attracted him at their first meeting. There were few people so steadfast, with such integrity to their every action, such complete devotion to such a wide, sweeping cause. Attraction had been nearly instantaneous, then the ongoing mission of poking at that dour exterior, seeking some reaction to prove he'd been acknowledged by this fascinating man. He'd quickly become eager to offer a distraction to the unamused air that hung constantly over Smoker. Back then, even provoking the weyrleader to audible annoyance was a triumph, and in time he'd become very sure that his goading was expected and even anticipated, something that had gratified him during each visit.

After Merath's hatching, he'd seen Smoker's ongoing work in person, every day, heard the immediate history of the Weyr's reform from the weyrlings he'd trained with, from the Lower Caverns folk he'd befriended, and his fascination and admiration had grown beyond anything he could have anticipated, filling the void that had opened in him from having left Whitebeard's crew.

Ace could not ever have imagined a better man to lead this Weyr. Loving that man went hand in hand with the admiration, as Ace loved his former crew and captain.

Falling in love had been something else altogether, but it had crept in alongside.

He'd been granted, six months ago, some special status in Smoker's life, allowed in his bed, in his personal space, allowed to recover the slot he'd filled for years as emissary, but now with benefits and the welcome, if self-appointed, responsibility to make sure this weyrleader was able to relax from time to time.

And he'd done that, until now. Twenty-six pairs injured, the most ruinous 'Fall since Ace had arrived, and he'd buckled, unable to do anything useful at all.

And Smoker was... saying his name.

*

Ace's collapse had been unsettling to see, even beyond the immediate worry about his health. It was something Smoker hadn't ever quite anticipated; Ace did not show vulnerability. Oh, he made it clear when he was hoping for sex, certainly, and in private he became very physically affectionate.

But until this, right here, the degree of one-sidedness in their relationship had not even occurred to Smoker. Ace had always gotten so much obvious pleasure from provoking Smoker to reaction, physical or otherwise, seemed so often smug, or satisfied, or just _happy_ with the way Smoker let himself react to him... It had seemed balanced.

A tally started forming, though, and Smoker thought of the days he'd spent shut in meeting rooms with uncooperative trade liaisons, or dealing with deeply aggravating disciplinary or rank issues, or previous bad Threadfalls... Ace would show up, when he had finished his work, drop broad hints with a grin, or if Smoker was truly angry, Ace would just wait, open invitation on his face, and Smoker would find relief from the stress of the day in Ace's eager, energetic hands.

When Smoker had needed it.

Ace had not come to him that first time there'd been a death while Ace was up in 'Fall. Smoker hadn't thought much of it—a few deaths had already happened since Ace had Impressed, and he had learned to handle the impact of a dragon's reaction.

Ace had not come when two of his former weyrling classmates had died together in a _between_ accident. Smoker had figured Ace had grieved together with the rest of his classmates.

Ace had not come after Merath had been wounded for the first time during Threadfall and landed screeching and bellowing in the bowl, suffering a superficial but terrible-looking and painful Threadscore. Smoker had assumed he had wanted to be with Merath.

But, the realization struck him, never once had Smoker gone to him when it might have been appreciated. The thought had never crossed his mind.

“You don't need this,” Ace had just said. The thought had never crossed Ace's mind either, it appeared.

All from habit, formed by years of non-intimate interaction. Ace approached, and Smoker shoved him back. It remained the same now, though the animosity had turned to comfortable ritual, with Ace's come-ons and Smoker's gruff, falsely hostile acceptances. Nearly a game. But always, it was Ace stepping forward.

Ace, though... Despite what Smoker knew, thanks to Seigith and Merath’s communications, about his and Ace’s real enjoyment of each other and the deeper feelings... of some ilk... that they both felt, Ace was the losing player of their game. His pleasure came at Smoker's convenience, or not at all. His relief from hurt or stress was incidental, and nothing more.

All the touching and affectionate contact suddenly seemed to Smoker far less like Ace simply being his pushy self, and more like Ace gathering a stockpile of tactile memory. Smoker could still remember the vast relief when he'd finally let himself touch someone else, for the first time in years, after that mating flight. Was he driving Ace to something similar?

Ace wasn't without support of his own, of course. Merath was there, would always be there, and Ace had many friends among his fellow riders; his manners, integrity and good nature had long ago earned him fully warranted respect throughout the Weyr.

Smoker's too. And more. And Ace must not, at all costs, continue thinking his gift of support to Smoker was all that Smoker appreciated about him, nor that it was his _job_.

Just now, Ace's expression was simply wrecked, face drawn with exhaustion and strain, like every rider this night, but all of it washed over with guilty embarrassment. He hadn't just stumbled, today, he'd crashed. About time, maybe. How much longer could this have gone on?

Smoker let go of Ace's arm to reach for his face, cupping his cheek a moment before sliding his hand down his neck, and lightening his touch over the dark bruising on his shoulders.

“It goes two ways,” he said gruffly. “Or it should. If I needed a warm body, I could fuck anyone I wanted,” he added. Ace's mouth thinned, but his shoulders moved in a shrug of unwilling agreement. “I don't want ‘anyone,’” Smoker said. “I want you. For some Thread-cursed reason, you want me.” Indignation appeared on Ace's face at that self-deprecation, but Smoker interrupted before he could speak. “So it goes two ways. It's been a fucking bad day, but I didn't fall eight thousand feet. You're entitled to the aftermath, and you deserve company or support or... whatever,” he finished lamely, wishing, as he sometimes did, that he had a better touch for emotional events.

Ace grimaced, embarrassment returning to his features but much less shame than before. He nodded once, the movement jerky and clearly an effort. “Can we stop talking about it now,” he muttered.

Smoker barked a laugh, then sighed with some relief. “Yes.” He was in full agreement with that sentiment. “Come on,” he said, and moved slowly to stand, watching to see if Ace's legs were going to support him. Ace managed, standing on his own, and following Smoker to the pool.

The water was hot, it felt wonderful, and likewise, Smoker heard Ace sigh as he sank into the water, ducking all the way beneath the thigh-high surface for a moment before standing again. Smoker turned to reach around his waist and pull him close. Ace's hands came to rest on his waist and Smoker just held him there a while, feeling the naked shape against his own. Ace was bruised, inside and out, but he was here.

Ace's hands started to move, hesitant in a way Smoker had never felt before. He didn't comment, just lowered his head and kissed Ace's jaw, his neck, as Ace felt tentatively around his sides and back.

Hesitant or not, Ace's body expressed its interest soon enough, and Ace shifted to let his erection press against Smoker's thigh, though he was otherwise still.

Finding Ace's mouth, Smoker kissed him just briefly before pulling back. He turned half away to reach for the basket at the edge of the pool that held soap and clothes, and, as of some months ago, lubricant. A cloth, soaped and warm, against Ace's skin made his fingers tighten at Smoker's waist, his head falling forward against his shoulder while Smoker washed his back. A light push and Ace leaned away. Smoker ran the cloth over his chest, slowly over the lines of bruising Ace caught at his wrist, uncharacteristically silent, and Smoker stilled, only for Ace to pull the cloth from him, and begin washing him in return.

Smoker closed his eyes and let him, the soft scrape of the cloth pleasant, the hand whose shape it surrounded welcome and familiar. The other hand slid wetly after it. Smoker reached blindly, fingers tracing down Ace's stomach, finding crinkly hair and then the wet, silky length of his erection. He closed one hand around it, stroking slowly, and Ace's hands stilled on his chest.

Opening his eyes, Smoker looked at hooded eyes that didn't meet his. The set of Ace's mouth was ambivalent, the red stain of self-consciousness still present under his freckles. The tired slump of his shoulders and the wet hair plastered to his head and neck made him an altogether sorry sight.

“Ace,” Smoker said. Ace looked up, and Smoker saw that same wide-eyed, startled look as before. Ace's eyebrows quirked in a brief questioning expression. Smoker leaned down to kiss him, impatient with the lingering angst. It was a possessive, demanding kiss. Smoker made no attempt to gentle it, and Ace opened under him instantly, answering with an eager, if tired, noise that made Smoker relax somewhere inside. This part left little room for confusion. It was most definitely the easiest way, outside dragon interference, for both of them to get across some of what they meant but didn't seem able to say with any facility.

Ace moved against him finally, up into his grip, and Smoker let go of him to hold his hips instead, and pull them together, eager to feel Ace's now-responsive body against his, to finally escape the full-body chill of pure horror he'd had upon hearing of his rescue stunt. Ace was right here, whole and hot and wet, for him to touch and feel and taste.

A step forward, and Ace backed up, and again, until he was up against the edge of the pool. Smoker pulled back from the kiss, dropping another touch of his mouth to the corner of Ace's, then knelt. Ace made a low mumble of protest, but Smoker closed one hand around his cock, stroking his thumb below the head and looked up. Ace's eyes were half-lidded again, but heated now, and he licked his lips. Satisfied, Smoker stroked down Ace's cock, and leaned the few inches forward to take the head into his mouth. Salt, bitter, hot, and Ace's hands came down and fastened in his hair, tugging in slight encouragement as Smoker slid down, feeling the smoothness of Ace's foreskin on his tongue, the ridge at the base of the head.

“Hah. F-fuck,” Ace muttered, and Smoker closed his eyes in satisfaction as Ace began his familiar litany of crude responses to pleasure, punctuated with short, appreciative gasps. Smoker slid a hand between Ace's thighs, and they parted obligingly for him to turn his hand and properly caress Ace's balls, slick and soft in the heated air, and he pulled off Ace's cock a moment to slide his tongue over and behind the delicate sac, making Ace squirm and curse above him, grip become light in his hair as Smoker attended to the gratifyingly sensitive area.

The fingers in his hair tightened again when Smoker returned to slide over Ace's cock. He moved his lower hand farther back, stroking a finger over Ace's perineum before sliding over the soft-ridged skin of his hole. He pressed in, and Ace exhaled above him, the water and relaxation plenty to accommodate one finger, plenty to let him slide over the tight, sensitive skin and reach far enough inside to push at the pleasure centre inside.

He didn't push hard. There was no hurry. The day's work obligations were fulfilled, and Smoker had personal ones now to attend to.

Slow thrusts of his finger and the attentions of his tongue had Ace losing coherence in his hands, gradually slipping from curses and compliments to half-formed repetitious moans, and Smoker stopped guiding himself, instead following every pull of Ace's hands in his hair, matching each push of his finger to the suddenly quickened pace. He felt the beginning of the orgasm, the finality of Ace's hips shoving forward and his hands going painfully tight in Smoker's hair, and then Ace whimpered as his body clenched and his cock pulsed on Smoker's tongue, filling his mouth with the familiar taste of Ace's semen.

Ace unclenched his hands quickly, smoothing over Smoker's head in his normal, needless apology for the grip. Smoker swallowed and slid back slowly, pulling his finger free and idly scrubbing at it under the water. Ace's knees gave way again, but it was controlled this time, and he dropped into the water in front of Smoker, reaching out to wrap his arms around Smoker's neck and pull himself forward.

Smoker gathered him up, turning them so he could sit on the inner seating ledge, and leaned back against the pool's side with Ace on his lap. The water lapped around their shoulders and Ace breathed quietly, head resting heavily on Smoker's shoulder. Smoker rested his arms, fingers interlaced, low around Ace's hips.

“Never crashed like that before,” Ace said, voice muffled, though his tone was almost conversational. “Jumped from high rigging to the water before, to other ships, bunch of times, fought while I was hanging by a line during a storm...”

“Fallen for a few thousand feet during Threadfall?” Smoker asked, unable not to tighten his arms.

“Not till today,” Ace acknowledged after a moment, shifting a little closer.

“First time for everything,” Smoker said.

Ace didn't respond to that, instead starting to move his hips in Smoker's lap, rubbing against the erection that had relaxed a little in the interim, Ace's own was hardening again and Smoker felt the usual faint, resigned envy for Ace's youth, and the usual smug anticipation at the prospect of getting to make him come twice. Smoker separated his hands to spread them over Ace's ass and aid his motion. He leaned his head forward to suck gently at the skin of Ace's neck and slid his fingers back between Ace's asscheeks, rubbing over his hole, pushing a finger a little ways in and out again, a slow massage.

With a nudge from Smoker, Ace braced his arms on Smoker's shoulders and raised himself a bit, lowering just enough that Smoker felt him bump the head of his cock.

“Slick,” Smoker said. They could do without, underwater, and had before, but Smoker wasn't in the mood for roughness. Ace made an affirmative noise, and raised up again, leaning over to reach for the basket. Smoker got a close look at the swaths of bruising across his chest. He managed to make his sigh a silent one, but was unable to tear his eyes away from the discoloured areas until Ace settled back, presenting the jar to Smoker.

A helping of the soft, oily gel, and he pushed two fingers into Ace, spreading the slick around, thankful as ever that the stuff worked under water.

Ace was finally able to settle back down, Smoker supporting him from underneath as he slid himself down over Smoker's cock, his face slack with contented new arousal. The tightness sliding up and down again made Smoker grunt and Ace chuckled, the sound trailing off into a comfortable hum.

The heat and wonderful, slow slide, with Ace's arms around his neck, was a welcome pocket of smooth, perfect distraction from all the day's trials. Ace's mouth covered his, soft and open to his tongue, and Smoker felt one of Ace's hands drop between them, knuckles brushing over Smoker's stomach as he settled his grip around his own cock, his strokes starting in tandem with their movements. He moved one of his own hands to join Ace's, sliding his fingers over Ace's and feeling him move.

Smoker's orgasm crept up on him as he thrust upward into Ace. He felt nothing but Ace and lust and the heat of the water, and it was all he wanted to feel, his slowly-building arousal peaking almost outside his notice until Ace broke their kiss with a chest-deep moan and thrust upward into their combined grip, then moved down hard. He gasped and stiffened, his arm tightening around Smoker's neck, an urgent little noise escaping him. The sound made Smoker's breath catch, made his steadily increasing arousal surge; he felt himself overshoot the threshold. He lifted Ace's hips to pull him roughly back again, seeking faster, harder friction, until he thrust upward and yanked Ace down hard one last time. He came with a short groan and a splash as his final abrupt movement disturbed the pool's surface. Ace was already relaxed in his arms, and he sank back, eyes closed, trying to hold on to the afterglow as long as possible.

Neither of them moved for a while. Ace shifted just enough to curl both arms around Smoker's neck and settle his head.

“Don't pass out here, Portgas,” Smoker said some time later, the warning in his voice entirely pretend. He would have carried Ace to bed, if need be—it wouldn't have been the first time—but, astonishingly, he hadn't fallen asleep just yet. Ace's shoulders shook with a short laugh. He raised his head, blinking contentedly.

“You're just afraid of wrinkling even more, old man,” Ace said. He looked on the threshold of sleep, though, and Smoker half lifted him off before he sighed and stood on his own.

Drying off was slow and only about half-accomplished when Ace wandered back towards Smoker's bedroom. There were sounds of drawers being rummaged through, and when Smoker came out, Ace was in front of the washbasin and mirror, wearing a pair of Smoker's undershorts and an ancient, use-softened shirt that had been relegated to sleepwear, the fabric clinging to him in a few damp spots.

“You sleep okay here, hey, brat,” Smoker said suddenly. Ace turned and gave him a nod from under the towel he was rubbing slowly over his hair, sleepy eyes curious at the dangling statement. “Was thinking I could visit yours sometimes too.” Ace lowered the towel, eyes going as wide as they had when Smoker had said his name. “Got room?”

Ace recovered after another moment of surprise. “More than enough, old man. Any time.”

Smoker walked over to stand behind him, and reached around to hug him across the chest, meeting his eyes in the mirror. “Good.”


End file.
